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I sigh, my body aching in more ways than one. “Thank you for staying over last night. You didn't have to, but I appreciate it.”
She knocks her shoulder into mine. “Please, like I was gonna leave you here after everything that happened. You want me to stay tonight too? I kinda feel like I can push Shelbi a little further.”
I grin at her. “I think I'll be fine. Thank you though. And didn't you tell me how she once assigned you sugar cookie work for a week when you called out to go on vacation?”
“Ugh, don't remind me. I still have nightmares about drowning in a pool full of pastel-colored royal icing,” she says with a groan.
I giggle a little despite her pitiful expression. “That's right. It was around Easter, right?”
“Yeah and I'll never look at decorative eggs the same again. But it was worth it,” she says, flashing me a sassy grin. “Abby and I spent the weekend on the beach in Mexico.”
I nod a few times. “I remember.” I wish I would've gone with them when they asked, but I was focused on my fledgling career and convinced that if I worked hard enough and put more hours in, then my parents would respect me.
She sighs, getting comfortable in the chaise. “But I do have a few big orders to fill, so Ishouldgo in tomorrow. I can sleep down here again so I don't wake you when I have to leave.”
We ended up setting up the family room like we used to when we were kids and slept over here. Even though Nana Jo had guest rooms that we could've used, we would always use the featherbeds and soft foldable mattresses and make makeshift beds. We'd watch movies until we passed out. Usually with a handful of chips still in our hands.
Last night we recreated the same scene. Only instead of potato chips, we had ice cream and takeout. And I made sure to put the melting tub in the freezer when Cora fell asleep during the second half of the second movie.
“No, really. I'm fine. You'll probably sleep better in your own bed anyway. I'm just going to keep going while I have the free time. Dixie has her surgery soon, so I'll be nannying Hunter full-time for the rest of the summer. I want to get as much done now, ya know?”
“I get it. I'll drag Mom with me when I come over next, make her help and take what she wants so you can move on. I know you're eager to decorate the space,” she says, tipping her head toward the living room and reclining on the chaise once more.
“I guess. I kind of like it with Nana Jo's touch on it though,” I murmur.
“I know. I love this house too. But I don't think you should memorialize her or Magnolia Lane. She wanted you to live, which means putting your own style in here. It's too beautiful of a house to be stuck in the 60s anyways,” she says with a chuckle.
I laugh along with her, the edges a little watery. “God, she did love the shag and jewel tones sometimes, didn't she?”
Cora nods solemnly. “She really did. Thank god she had to replace that burnt orange shag area rug a few years ago. Can you imagine the amount of dust that thing collected?” Cora shudders like she's disgusted, and it only makes me laugh harder.
“Oh my god, you should see your face. You look like someone just told you that you have a giant family of rats in your bedroom—not a dusty rug.”
Her face scrunches up even more. “What? I hate dust, okay? It always makes me sneeze.”
My laughter dies off, and I roll my eyes playfully. “Dust makes everyone sneeze, babe.”
She tips her chin up and looks down her nose at me. “Well, I don't like it. Everyone has their thing, ya know? Like how you don't like jellyfish.”
I run the pad of my index finger across my arched brow and stare at my cousin. “What? Jellyfish are transparent blobs of electric shock that free-float in the ocean. It's not even close to the same thing.”
She flicks me with the back of her hand playfully. “Whatever, you know what I mean.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess so.” I pause, trying to find the right words to phrase my next question. “So, are you going to tell me who you were trying to see at the Reapers' clubhouse the other day or . . .?”
Okay, so my finesse is a little off. But to my credit, she had all night to tell me.
“I told you: no one.”
“Bullshit,” I say immediately.
She huffs and looks away from me, toward the ceiling. “Fine. So I was curious about what Jagger's been up to these days. Sue me.”
I roll my head along the back of the couch to face her. “Babe, I don't care if you want to hook up with Jagger or anyone else.”
She looks at me now, pivoting her body so we're facing one another. “Not even one of the St. James men?” She waggles her brows.
I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek. “You already know I have some interesting . . . feelings about them.”
